


aftermath

by zombeesknees



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Raleigh/Mako in a hyperbaric chamber, post-film. | Written for Meredith on LJ many moons ago.





	aftermath

He couldn’t remember the flight back to the Shatterdome. Or the cheering of the mob that pressed around them in an attempt to touch the rangers who had sealed the Breach. Or the faces of the doctors who rushed them into the chamber.

All Raleigh could remember was the warm pressure of her hand around his, the way their fingers intertwined and her thumb locked over his, tethering them together as surely as Gipsy’s harness. He remembered her eyes, the storm of relief and giddy triumph and terrible grief that shifted across her face and echoed through her body into his. 

In the aftermath there was nothing but Mako Mori—and it was enough. More than enough. What had been lost, what had been achieved, what would come next barely mattered in that moment. Because she was alive and he was alive and they were together.

The door sealed behind them with a hiss of pressure. The sound punctured the bubble; he blinked and was abruptly aware of their surroundings. A cot and a chair, standard military make, and bare white metallic walls. There was a short screech of feedback, and then Dr. Gottlieb’s stuttering voice issued from the speaker grill above the door. 

“Frightfully sorry for this, but we must take every precaution. The Gipsy’s hull was compromised, and your eject pods rose more quickly than we would have liked. Give us a couple hours to ensure you’re properly stabilized.”

“Take the time to relax,” a deeper voice cut in—Herc Hansen’s. “Just sit and _be_. I’m sure you both need it. I’ll try to keep the world at bay until you’re ready to face it.”

“Thank you, Marshall,” Mako said, eyes never leaving Raleigh’s face. (Thank God for Mako, who always knew how to be respectful; right now he wasn’t sure he could manage intelligible speech.)

Herc turned off the mic and clapped a hand on Gottlieb’s shoulder. “Give ‘em some privacy, Doc,” he said. “It’ll take awhile before they can look past their own shoulders.” He nodded at the medical team, who started the decompression sequence, gathered up their clipboards, and bustled for the door. 

“But I have some questions about the nature of the Breach—”

“They can wait. They’ll _have_ to wait. Trust me. This is their time. This is necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her hair was still damp. There was a piece of green seaweed mixed with the blue, and he reached out with his free hand to pluck it loose. He let his fingertips brush against her temple, sweeping back the hair, and she smiled as she inclined into his hand, like a cat about to purr. He wanted to lean into her, knowing her head would be tilted just so to meet him, and kiss her until they forgot how to breathe—but as he tried to move he had to stop with a wince.

With each minute that ticked past, the physical world became sharper and more present. His side ached, a dull red pain where he’d fallen in his haste to reach the manual override. He had barely registered it, the wince still dying on his face, before her hand was at the joint in the armor. “We don’t need this any more,” she said, fingers pressing at the releases, nails digging into the catches. She pried off the chestplate, started in on the shoulders, and as the pieces of his suit fell to the floor he felt a hollow pang of regret. No, they didn’t need them any more—there was no longer a need for Jaegers, or for pilots. Gipsy Danger was gone, dead, having done her duty. Leaving him and Mako behind.

“It’s okay,” she whispered against his neck, a gentle hand soft at his side. “I know, I know…” She pressed her cheek to his, the touch centering him, steadying him.

He unfastened the latches of her suit. Dropped the gleaming black armor beside his. When they had cast off everything they stood silently for a long pause, forehead to forehead, focusing only on their breathing and the steady, unified beating of their hearts. The last echoes of the Drift were beginning to fade into evanescence, like dew in morning sun; without Jaegers, this precious moment could be the last time they felt so connected, one mixed soul in two bodies, utterly aware of their other half’s every shiver and thought.

Her hand curved around his neck, thumb brushing at his hairline with just enough pressure, at just the right spot. “Drift compatible, remember?” she said. “Even before we stepped into Gipsy, we knew. What was between us always will be.”

“Mako,” he managed, voice hoarse.

He’d never been able to look at the future. Could never look further than today. Before, he’d been too cocky, too naïve, too headstrong. Safe in the knowledge that he was a ranger, that he could take on the hurricane, that tomorrow happened to other people. When Yancy was ripped from him, the hole he left behind gaped like a mortal wound; to survive he had filled it with physical labor, the distraction of working on the Wall. And he had never looked beyond because how could there truly be anything else? The clock had stopped with Yancy’s heart.

And then he’d stepped out of that helicopter into the rain, and there she was. And the clock began to tick again, the noise of it even louder than the blood rushing through his ears when she flipped him on the sparring floor. When Mako Mori looked at him, he could see again. Past the Wall and beyond the past. The hole in his soul was somehow smaller—it would always be there, of course it would be; a part of him would always go through life feeling as though his left arm was missing. Nothing could replace the brother he’d lost. The family she’d lost. 

But when they were together, the world felt real again. No longer was he trapped in an empty timeless space with only his brother’s ghost for company. No longer was she trapped in memories of loss and fear and revenge. Together, they could just _be_. They were truly drift compatible — and that meant much more than partners, or friends, or even lovers. 

Some people didn’t need technology to see into each other’s heads.

The cot creaked as they stretched across it. For the longest time he just held her, hands hot and gentle over her back and arms. She tucked herself into him as if this was an old routine, fitting her legs just so around his. It was enough to just touch one another, to remember how their bodies worked, to remind themselves that this was real and not just memory. 

She brushed her nose over his collarbone, breathed in the scents of the ocean and the Jaeger and his sweat. Caressed the scars across his shoulder. Pressed a kiss to them. Remembered how it had felt, the razor cold fire of it, and how hard it had been to get the Gipsy back to land, all the while with a white and terrible void in the place where a big brother should be…

He buried his face in her shoulder, her hair tangling in his eyelashes, and tightened his arms around her just shy of painful. She was so slim and soft and yet beneath that was steel and molten fire. Such an iron will and driving passion, a need to be better, ever better, to achieve every goal no matter how intimidating. So smart, so ambitious, so bruised by Tokyo. All her life shaped by the military and machines, by monsters from the deep. 

With all they’d lost, what would they find now?

When she shifted he pushed himself up on his elbows, meeting her mouth without hesitation. Acting purely on instinct, knowing where her body would be, he moved to fill the space around it. Slid his fingers through her hair as she scraped her teeth over his lip. Angled his hips when she drew her knee over his waist. They slipped together smoothly, two fragments of a single whole, and nothing had ever felt so right. There was more than one way to feel unified. And now, breath catching in throats, connecting was so necessary there was no longer any room for anything else in their heads. The need overcame them, and with all their armor stripped away they lost themselves in the rush.

The best and brightest, and she was a part of him—he knew he didn’t deserve her. He had never been the best at _anything_. But then her voice drowned out that doubt, her eyes so certain, as she claimed him. Marked his chest with her nails, spelled out _mine_ with every breath. She kissed the spot where his heart hummed, and he heard her words as if she’d shouted them: your heart is unmatched; this is your strength; this is your greatness and power. Raleigh Becket has a heart as big as the world—no wonder he is its savior.

Without Mako Mori, he’s nothing, he told her with a kiss. Twisted so she lay beneath him, an arm wrapped around his neck as he stroked a red hot line between her breasts. He’s a wind-up man without its key. You make me better.

Equals, she gasped in his ear. True partners; there is never a need to talk of debts. We are what we are.

Together, he promised with a thrust that unlocked both doors. Always.

Later, when they had drawn a sheet up and she lay against him with her head on his chest, as he was absentmindedly braiding a few strands of her hair, she laughed softly. He could still feel the edges of her thoughts, and felt his own lips curve up into a smile.

“That was some dialogue,” she said.

And then, like a switch being flipped, she began to cry; the quiet, shivering sobs that came from exhaustion and delayed shock. He curved his body around her like a protective shield, held her as she held him, stroked her back and said nothing. He knew. She knew. Sometimes words were just redundant. 

Except…

The first wave of tears died away. Her breathing evened out. She no longer clutched so fiercely to his arms. She was hardly done grieving; it would be weeks, even months, before such waves of pain would pass. But it was a start. And before sorrow could seize her again, there was something he needed her to hear.

“Mako,” he said. “I know I talk too much by half—”

“It’s okay, Raleigh. I understand.” And she did—how saying things aloud, even in the midst of a Drift, kept him focused on the present. Kept him from chasing the rabbit into Yancy’s memories.

“I know you do. But I think… I think pilots take it for granted that the Drift speaks for us. That there are things we don’t need to say because we’ve already seen it all. And I don’t think that’s completely true. Some things need to be said, regardless. And even with the Kaiju gone, life is too unpredictable to put things off. I love you, Mako. I know I only made it out of the Breach because of you; that the war is over because of you. Before I met you, I didn’t have anything left to fight for. And without you, I would have died down there—one way or another. You said to come home, so I did. You’re my home, Mako. I’m finally home.”

Through the tears streaking her face, she smiled. The woman who had made Gipsy Danger whole, made her a fighter again, who had done the same for him, was smiling. 

Raleigh Becket had never seen anything so beautiful.


End file.
